Life's Too Short

To recap our Japan trip:

Day 1: arrive to Chiyoda and attempt to explore the Imperial Palace East Gardens in drizzling rain;

Day 2: shopping and dining in Ginza;

Day 3: the highs and lows of Shinjuku;

Day 4: views of Tokyo Skytree in Sumida and exploring the adorable neighborhood of Asakusa;

Day 5: wandering around Shibuya;

Day 6: checking out the scene in Harajuku and then catching a train to Kyoto;

Day 7: walk all day throughout Kyoto;

Day 8: walk some more in Kyoto;

Day 9: exhausted from walking all over Kyoto so catch a train back to Tokyo;

Day 10: continue exploring Shibuya, Harajuku, as well as Omotesando (and a quick misguided detour back to Asakusa), and the Meiji Shrine on our last full day in Tokyo;

Day 11: depressed to be boarding a plane back to Vietnam 😦

I can hardly convey how much I loved being in Japan. It’s beautiful, clean, modern, efficient, its citizens are renowned for their politeness, and we didn’t have a single bad meal. In many ways it was the opposite of my experiences over the last six months in Vietnam. I’m ready to leave. The reason we had to squeeze 5 countries into a month and a half of back-to-back travel is that our return flights to the U.S. had been booked for October 16th. Originally we planned to postpone our return flights by six months in order to stay a full year, but after consulting the inner depths of my heart, mind, and soul, I realized that there was no way in hell I wanted to stay another six months in Vietnam.

Which means we only have a few days to pack up all of our crap, say our goodbyes, and get the hell out of Asia.

We took a bullet train from Tokyo to Kyoto and spent 3 days and 3 nights enjoying the sights, and tastes, of Kyoto. We visited more temples, shrines, zen gardens, rock gardens, castles, and palaces than I could possibly remember the names of, and even though we took over a thousand photos, I never tire of looking at them. Kyoto produced some of the most stunning images I’ve ever seen. The way the Japanese can manipulate and coax nature into breathtaking works of art is awe-inspiring.

Two experiences for which I’m especially grateful are the discovery of ryokans (traditional Japanese-style inns) and kaiseki dinners (elite Kyoto cuisine involving multiple courses). I’d never heard of ryokans until I started researching hotels in Kyoto. At first I was neither impressed by nor interested in ryokans upon learning that they were more expensive than regular hotels and involved sleeping on a futon on the floor. Who wants to pay extra for that? But then I learned that dinner and breakfast were typically included in the price of a room, and these were no ordinary meals. It was my introduction to kaiseki, which is basically foodie heaven. I could eat kaiseki every day for the rest of my life and die perfectly happy. It’s become my all-time favorite cuisine, and that’s not something I say lightly.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/izVkqAvyEXRiEzzp9

On our last day in Kyoto, we made a pilgrimage to the impressive Fushimi Inari Shrine. I would’ve liked to have completed the several hour trek to the mountaintop, but I think that might have killed my poor old husband.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/FF73hvdYPNwRAGti7

We spent the day exploring the happening Shinjuku area, known for its hole-in-the-wall bars and masses of humanity. Our intent was to go bar-hopping among the intimate closet-sized bars of Golden Gai, and I guess we technically achieved our goal by going to exactly two bars in Shinjuku. We were informed that nightlife doesn’t really get going until 11 P.M., which was way too late for a couple of old geysers like us, who had been roaming the streets and avenues of Shinjuku since 11 A.M. I didn’t want to be anywhere but in bed at 11 P.M. Especially when, after having for dinner two of the largest buckets of udon known to mankind, we wandered into a “concept bar” called Heaven around 7 P.M. It was hidden at the top of a narrow flight of stairs and when we opened the door into a cramped, dim, and rather dingy bar crammed with shelves of Japanese DVDs, I wanted to head straight out and back downstairs. I have no idea what concept the owner/bartender was going for; it was decidedly not heavenly. The male bartender and a lone female patron ushered us in, so, being too embarrassed to leave, we sat down at the bar and ordered drinks. Turns out the female patron had attended university at UC Santa Cruz and spoke terrific English, so we engaged in conversation with her and she acted as a translator between us and her bartender friend. When I first (reluctantly) sat down, the patron and the bartender exchanged some words in Japanese, and I heard them say the word “beautiful” in English as they nodded toward me and then at each other. Then the patron said to Tom, “My friend [the bartender] says that there are many pretty girls in Japan, but they are not beautiful. She [motioning toward me] is very beautiful.” At that moment I thought they were the most delightful people I had ever met and the bar was charming and exactly where we were supposed to be. What can I say, I’ve always been a sucker for compliments. When the bartender later expressed shock at the fact that we’ve been married for 14 years and have two children, his follow-up compliment of thinking that I was in my twenties was almost as good, but a woman never tires of hearing that she’s beautiful. It totally made my day and I would return to Heaven in a heartbeat. Maybe its dim lighting was particularly flattering or maybe the bartender was just really clever.

After Heaven, we stopped at one more bar and then decided to make our way back to our hotel. As we were walking down the lane that led from the Golden Gai area to the main drag, we approached a row of American tourists taking a picture of themselves at the end of the lane. As we came up behind them, we sidestepped the row of bodies but must have ducked too slowly because one guy (who looked like a stereotypical frat-boy) yelled at us, “Hey, you fucking ruined the picture!” I turned to look at him in shock, but as always, my anger came too slowly. Only after several seconds had passed and we were well down the block did I think of an appropriate retort: “Your fucking face ruined it! Don’t be such an obnoxious American, it’s embarrassing!” Maybe he had reduced inhibitions about swearing at strangers because he thought we didn’t understand English. Maybe he was subconsciously playing the role of the irreverent American in an uptight Asian society. Maybe he thought he was just being a smart-ass when he’s actually a dumb-ass. I realized I was furious, and kept kicking myself for not chewing him out. After further thought I decided it was probably for the best that I didn’t get into a verbal sparring match; I wouldn’t put it past a redneck hick like him to hit a woman.

Before this incident, Tom had just been telling the patron and the bartender at Heaven how impressed we were with the city of Tokyo. As he often does when he’s trying to enhance a compliment, Tom was overly critical about the U.S. and his fellow Americans. He suggested that Americans were, in general, ruder and more obnoxious than Japanese people. I disagreed and reproached him for his unfairly harsh assessment. I told him I was proud to be American, and living in Southeast Asia for several months has reinforced my belief that Americans are, on the whole, eminently practical, logical, friendly, and polite.

Then a stupid frat-boy cursed at us for accidentally walking into a picture. As we were walking away, I watched him and one of his companions climb onto the railing dividing the lane and bow to each other in mocking parody of Japanese people. Tom remarked in disgust that people like that were the type of Americans he was criticizing while we were at Heaven. I had to agree. As mad as I was at the stupid frat-boy for his rudeness toward us, what upsets me the most is knowing how much damage he’s inflicting on the reputation of Americans globally. He and people like him represent such a small fraction of who Americans are as a society, but he and people like him make the rest of us look bad. I believe the vast majority of U.S. citizens are decent, respectable, and respectful people, but unfortunately it’s the occasional asshole who makes a lasting impression.

Enjoying curry chicken katsu for lunch

Afternoon tea break

Who can resist a bar lined in red carpet?

The micro-bars of Golden Gai

Heaven: a concept bar

The biggest bowl of udon known to mankind

Secret lane to Golden Gai.

How much can one eat and drink in a 12 hour span of time? A lot.

We should have ordered just one bucket of udon

See our entire day in Shinjuku here:

https://plus.google.com/u/1/photos/117364714322873137486/albums/5959623633623148753?sort=1

Tokyo is fucking awesome.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/35gBjRDt13ym28g16

Although I had a fantastic time in Bangkok, I had a feeling I would like Chiang Mai more, and I was right! We stayed in an admittedly touristy area but it was adorable nonetheless and I loved it. The dense concentration of temples and massage parlors within the ancient walls of the old city and within walking distance of our hotel made for some terrific sightseeing and post-sightseeing relaxation. I received over 5 hours of massage treatments in a single day. Two and a half hours of a traditional Thai massage made me so sore that I had to get a second massage to recover from the first one. If only all my problems could be like this.

We hired a tour guide company to drive us to a famous landmark, Doi Suthep Temple, several kilometers outside of the old city and then went on a three hour trek through Doi Inthanon National Park, which was very beautiful despite the rainy weather. After my second full day of sightseeing I had to admit I was all “templed” out. Chiang Mai was the Thailand I wanted to experience.

See what I saw here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/117364714322873137486/albums/5946421434248030305?sort=1

While reviewing our packed travel itinerary over the course of several weeks, I originally decided to cut out Thailand in order to give us a week to rest in between Malaysia and Japan. Although it was a country we’d always wanted to visit, as time went on and we got older, other travel destinations eclipsed our desire to see Thailand. It seemed like one of those places people explore in their twenties. Wild and crazy nightlife was no longer much of an allure after kids, and I recently had my fill of lounging by the beach. What else was there to Thailand?

As a favor to my cousin SW, I agreed to throw some business to her travel agent friend and squeeze Thailand back into the itinerary so long as we could see Chiang Mai in addition to Bangkok. I was willing to check out Bangkok’s bar scene but was way more interested in Chiang Mai’s nature hiking and cultural sights. What a difference a decade makes! My 25-year-old self definitely would not have recognized my 35-year-old self. Not that I necessarily want to be 25 again. Who squeezes in a vacation to Thailand as an afterthought and as a favor to a travel agent? My 35-year-old baller self.

It turned out that two nights in Bangkok wasn’t enough. I was impressed by the temple complex of Wat Pho and enthralled by the magnificence of the Grand Palace, and disappointed that we didn’t make it to Wat Arun because we took the wrong ferry. After dinner we swung by Soi Cowboy to check out Bangkok’s infamous red light district, where I confirmed that large-breasted Thai women (and men) make my husband uncomfortable. We randomly entered Shark, a go-go bar that showcased 20+ semi-naked girls dancing listlessly on a narrow stage. After a drink and 20 minutes of gazing at thinly veiled nipples and vacant expressions, Tom was ready to get out of there. I know what everyone is thinking — Tom didn’t have fun because he was at a go-go bar with his wife, obviously. Not true. Scantily clad, forlorn-looking exotic dancers just aren’t his thing. He’s into 5’2″ Vietnamese women with disheveled hair and a sassy attitude.

I didn’t get any pictures of our Soi Cowboy experience but other Bangkok pictures can be found here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/117364714322873137486/albums/5946068147599822129?sort=1

Seeing our friend Lu was the primary reason for visiting Malaysia; we didn’t know very much about the country itself. Lu described it as “Truly Asia” and after we got there we understood why. Although a predominantly Muslim country, it has a remarkably diverse mixture of East, Southeast, and South Asian ethnicities with British colonial influences — a truly multicultural society. That can only mean good things for the cuisine, which was a wonderful spectrum of Asian-Indian food. I loved that signs advertising “Dried Shredded Meat Toast,” “Fish Head Curry,” and “Preserved Egg Porridge” were as commonplace in Kuala Lumpur as signs for “Steak and Eggs” or “Salad and Pasta” would be in the U.S. I loved the mall food courts that offered a billion different types of Asian food. I loved that being Asian meant blending in with the crowd, not standing out as a foreigner. Not that there weren’t moments I felt awkward or out of place; sometimes I was a little self-conscious about wearing a sleeveless top in an establishment inhabited or operated by large groups of culturally conservative Muslim men. It’s interesting to compare those experiences with my experiences in the U.S., where I was often aware of my status as an ethnic minority but never self-conscious about my ability to blend in culturally. Like Penang, Kuala Lumpur was very visually stimulating, with juxtapositions of old and new, history and modernism, and these contrasts were evident everywhere, from its architecture to its cuisine, and throughout its communities.

Still, the best part was hanging out with an old friend who really got us, and who could relate to so many things that we were going through, like being an American living outside of America and being a parent to a hyperactive child (or two). It’s nice when someone understands the need to just sit back and stare zombie-like into space, enjoying the silence of unconscious children. It’s comforting to know that becoming old and boring isn’t a tragedy, it’s an evolution. And it’s always fun to share meals with a fellow foodie. On our very last night in Kuala Lumpur, we all had grand ideas about how we were going to spend this Friday night partying like it was 1999. There was talk of bar-hopping, all-night trance clubs, hookah lounges, and foot massages. Ultimately, we ended up vegging on Lu’s couch, sampling exotic teas from his fancy tea set. “We’re having a TEA PARTY,” Lu cried in horror and disbelief when it dawned on him what we were doing. And for at least part of the evening I was completely engrossed in a documentary about the bubonic plague in 17th century England. I know there were and are so many more things to see and do in Kuala Lumpur and in Malaysia, but on that particular night I wouldn’t have rather been doing anything else.

Petronas Twin Towers

Mugs of Teh Tarik (pulled tea) – I was addicted to this sweet, frothy milk tea

Teh Tarik (pulled tea) in a plastic “take away” bag (you don’t say “to go” in Asia)

Local street food vendors

Our first taste of Nasi Lemak was YUM!

Roti Canai

Naan fresh from a clay oven

Tea party on our last night

Full album can be found here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/117364714322873137486/albums/5944539818161272081

On a tip from Lu, we flew from Kuala Lumpur to Penang to check out its capital, George Town, which was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Also on a tip from Lu, we stayed at Traders Hotel in Penang in order to take advantage of its free guest shuttle to an affiliate property in Batu Ferringhi, so we could enjoy a beach-side resort for a day. We straight up copied Lu’s family vacation. The ocean water in Batu Ferringhi was too infested with jellyfish to swim, but the kids thoroughly enjoyed the resort’s water slide and pool.

George Town was an assault on the senses. It’s got a lot of character, and I don’t mean that as a euphemism for dirty, old, and smelly, although it’s all those things too. It’s a historically rich and vibrant town, with pockets of ugliness and decay; and, with an open sewage system, one’s nostrils are indeed assaulted every so often with noxious odors. But there’s an organic beauty and charm about the cityscape that makes it so much more interesting than you might think at first glance. Amidst the grittiness and grime are also pockets of exquisite loveliness, hidden gems of visual, culinary, and cultural delights. George Town is known for its hawker food stalls (some of which we enjoyed more than others) and its urban street art (which we loved). Although the kids were reluctant to walk around searching for street art at first, after we rewarded them with jelly beans and promised more for each picture taken, they were urging us and each other on enthusiastically with exclamations of “Let’s find more art!” If it takes jelly bean bribes to expose our kids to culture, then so be it. I didn’t take pictures of most of our meals in Penang but we hit up a lot of the famous classics: Char Koay Teow (flat rice noodles stir fried with garlic, prawns, bean sprouts, eggs, and chives), Penang Assam Laksa (rice vermicelli in a tangy fish broth seasoned with lemongrass, chilies, and tamarind and topped with onions, herbs, cucumber, lettuce, and prawn paste), Chee Cheong Fun (steamed sheets of rice flour rolled, sliced, and served with chili paste and shrimp paste), Roti Canai (Indian-Muslim style flatbread served with lentil or chicken curry dipping sauces), and Fried Oysters (in a crispy egg omelette).

There were many tourists, like us, with their cameras, but it didn’t feel touristy. It felt genuine and authentic and real. I’m so glad we got to explore George Town at this particular moment in its history, and I hope it never gets gentrified or stripped of its quirky, unique character.

Penang Laksa

Full album can be found here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/117364714322873137486/albums/5945696104723898241

We flew to Kuala Lumpur with the kids to visit our good friend Lu and to squeeze in some side trips to Singapore and Penang. We got to Lu’s apartment late Wednesday night and the following morning immediately set off for Singapore, which is a 5 hour bus ride from Kuala Lumpur. Singapore is such a tiny city state that we budgeted only two days and one night to see the sights. With two young children who don’t enjoy walking, we probably should have stayed an extra day or two, but were still able to cover an incredible amount of ground during our brief visit. The metro and taxicabs made it easy to get around. It’s such a modern, beautiful, and CLEAN city; what a welcome change from Vietnam! And even though we didn’t bring our double stroller to Asia, the kids soldiered on like champs. I’m proud that they’re developing into such well-seasoned travelers!

The entire album can be viewed here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/117364714322873137486/albums/5943795763949351025

On our last morning in Saigon before departing for Malaysia, Brian, Ariana, the kids, and I went to the famous downtown market, Cho Ben Thanh, for brunch and souvenir shopping, while Tom stayed at the hotel to work. We had taken multiple trips between our hotel and that area so we knew that cab fare costed no more than 50,000 VN dong (roughly US$2.50). Brian and Ariana decided to stay behind to get some hair and nail treatments so I hailed a cab to take the kids back to the hotel. I gave the taxi driver the name of the hotel and the address in Vietnamese. As we approached the hotel a few minutes later, I glanced at the meter and saw that it had inexplicably jumped to over 150,000 dong. Alarmed, I asked the taxi driver how it could possibly cost over 100,000 dong when previous rides had costed between 35,000 to 40,000 dong. He immediately became hostile and defensive, arguing that the price for getting to the market was different from the price of leaving the market because the route was different. I called him out on his bullshit and asked how many kilometers did we travel because we had been in the cab only a few minutes. He wouldn’t back down and persisted in arguing with me, probably embarrassed because he realized that, even though he picked me up from a tourist trap and I spoke VN with an American accent, I knew exactly what I was talking about and how much the cab fare should be. When I told him to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, he suddenly made a left u-turn and parked across the street from the hotel. He accused me of giving him the wrong address and asked me to just get out where we were parked. The meter read 180,000 dong and I was pissed, flustered, and unsure of what to do next. I didn’t have the nerve to exit the cab without paying, but the smallest bill I had was a 200,000 dong bill. I knew that he would never give me the right change if I handed over 200,000 dong. I felt like I was being taken advantage of because I was a solo mother with two young kids, and I was furious. After feeble attempts at negotiation, I ended up paying 170,000 dong for a cab ride that should have costed 50,000 dong, or roughly US$8 for what should have costed $2.50. I called him a cheater, grabbed my kids and slammed the taxi door shut behind me. What’s the big deal, right? Really, what difference does $5 make, in the grand scheme of things? It’s not the dollar amount, it’s the principle of it. I can live with getting ripped off when I don’t know I’m getting ripped off. When I know it’s happening and I’m impotent to stop it, that’s when I hate myself the most. I realized that he didn’t want to drop us off at the hotel lobby entrance because the hotel porters would have come to my aid. I should have demanded that the taxi driver drop us off directly in front of the hotel or I should have refused to pay at all. But I was too chicken and flustered. I never know the right thing to do and say in the moment. I hate it when I’m treated badly, but I hate it even more when I don’t have the confidence and wherewithal to put a stop to it.